"We do not remember days; we remember moments."  ~Cesare Pavese, The Burning Brand


I've injured myself for the first time. At just shy of forty years old, I have broken my leg and shattered my ankle. The orthopedic surgeon summed it up by saying "I've seen prettier breaks". This break is a mess. What started as a fun family game of baseball with friends turned into me piled up in a heap at second base. I don't normally take a chance to hit the ball. These Sunday games are for helping our children hone their skills and I'm really good at standing in the outfield to cheer them on. This time was different. I took my chance at hitting and found that it was really fun. Running to first base to beat the ball being thrown was exhilarating! The next person up hit the ball and I had to run to second base. At second base was my friend, a woman who is really good at baseball. She has her own glove. When she grabbed the ball and began running to beat me at second base, the inner child in me took over. As we raced to the base, we both laughed at the situation. Two mom's, with to do lists out the wazoo and the weight of the world on our shoulders as we work to raise good kids, chasing to get to second base first. It was glorious.
 That is the way I'll always remember the day I broke my bones. Sure, there was the horrific fall and the terrible popping sound followed by hours of excruciating pain. Of course there is the hospital stay and the frequent needles and such that definately don't make it on my favorites list. There is surgery, there is recovery and there will be bumps in the road ahead as I heal.
 But sitting here all I can think about is the fun of it all. I'm thankful to have friends like our Sunday ballgame friends. I'm thankful to have a family that will lace up their shoes, grab their gloves and bats and however begrudgingly join me on the ballfield. I'm thankful to live in a place where we can play outside and breathe in the clean air. Most of all, I'm thankful for such a rich life. Broken bones and all.